Back
by Kuri333
Summary: After eighteen months away from her, he's back.
1. Chapter 1

He is overwhelmed. The day has passed in a daze of greetings and catching up, while he is trying to convince himself that, indeed, he is finally back. Now, his head on the back on the seat next to the fire and his eyes closed, John is happy, even relieved, that they had all gone to bed.

The only sounds are the crackling of the fire and Anna, busying in the otherwise deserted kitchen with one last cup of tea. He sighs in content. Less than twenty four hours ago he had been on a cold, damp cell, listening to the noises of his cellmates going to sleep - grunts, sighs, snores - and thinking, disbelieving, that it was going to be his last night in that terrible place.

"Are you sleepy?" He looks tired, has lost some weight and there are dark shadows under his eyes. Stubborn as he is, though, he shakes his head, smiling, and opens his eyes. She cannot help but beam at him.

"I'm enjoying all of this," he says, and with a little effort, he pulls the seat in front of him closer. She understands, and sits, carefully placing her cup of tea on the mantelpiece.

"Are you now?" she asks, laughter dancing in her voice. She cannot help it. Whatever she might have said before, she has never felt happier in her life.

"Oh yes," he says, and takes her right hand. After eighteen months, he can barely believe he is finally alone with her. With his Anna. No wardens or cellmates around, no fear, no worries. He must be dreaming, but then, not even his best dreams have been able to conjure the perfection of her skin, the softness of her touch.

She feels tears forming in the corner of her eyes and tries to stop them. He notices. "What is it?" There is concern in his voice.

"I am so very happy," she whispers, her voice cracking a little.

He smiles and looks at their entwined hands. Purposely, he strokes her index with the tip of his finger, slowly tracing the length of it. She smiles. They had been married for three days before he was taken away from her, and after years of having barely touched, and months of scarce and heavily supervised visits, his touching her feels new. Almost as if they were still newlyweds it sends shivers down her spine.

He keeps on tracing those wonderful, long fingers. Her hands are a bit callous and he would not have it any differently. He caresses her middle finger now, the base of her third finger, and lets his own rest on Anna's golden band. How he enjoys the sight of it and what it means. She is his wife. His.

He turns her hand in his and lets his finger continue exploring every inch of her palm, tracing the lines there and lingering on small scars of work mishaps. His thumb takes over; slowly, firmly, he caresses her palm and draws circles on the base of her wrist.

She inhales sharply, she cannot help it. It feels intimate; something that appears to be innocent has become so very intense. John looks at her, her eyes are dark, her lips slightly parted. His own lips urge him to take them, to taste them once again and remember their texture. Not yet, though. Without taking his eyes off her, he lets his thumb continue his exploration. Now he caresses the soft skin between her fingers, softly, barely touching it. She sighs and he's lost in the sound. She is breathing faster, her whole body leaning towards him, unconsciously. He can feel her heat, her scent, the warmth of her skin.

The tip of his index is back on her wrist, he lets it explore the small patch of skin and when that's not enough, he slides it inside the sleeve of her dress. She feels hot in her own skin, her heart beats furiously and she desperately wants to kiss him. Two can play the game, though, and deliberately, she wets her lips and swallows hard. Now he's the one unable to control a sigh and she smiles triumphantly. He is leaning closer. Any moment now.

But no. Without breaking eye contact, he places a soft kiss on her palm, and then another one on her wrist. She is about to burst, almost trembling with anticipation. With another deep sigh, she moves her hand to caress his chin, his cheek.

He is kissing her. Unable to resist a second longer, he had pulled her hand and captured her lips in his. It feels urgent, almost desperate, and Anna clings to it, her hands clutching the lapels of his waistcoat. Her lips are soft and firm and the taste, so very familiar. He cannot get enough of it. With his own mouth he pulls, teases, and almost with a willing of his own, his tongue traces the contours of her mouth. She lets him in and he groans as her tongue meets him. His own hands are on her waist now, and up her back, and down again, his body is urging him to claim what is his.

Her hands have needs, too, and she moves them to his neck, her fingers exploring his skin, playing just inside his collar. He groans and grabs her hips, his right leg between hers, pressing against her tigh.

She takes his lower lip with her teeth, gently despite her own urge. He groans and she does it again, sucking. Her body feels hot and she knows she's wet, waiting for him.

John murmurs something against her lips, but she cannot make out the words. After a moment he pulls apart, his forehead against hers, panting.

"Come to me tonight. Please."


	2. Chapter 2

She is clutching the cold key in her hand. The metal should sooth her heat a bit, but it doesn't. She hesitates just a moment in front of the closed door. Should she take the key with her? Leave it hanging on its hook next to the door? She resolves for the latter, just in case Mrs Hughes decides to go to the bath and notices it's missing.

The door would have to remain unlocked, but that would not be noticeable at first sight.

She has to make up her mind quickly. Only, she knows she has made the decision an hour ago; the moment he had uttered his plea against her lips.

With a deep, shaky breath she puts her hand on the handle, vaguely remembering that other time, so many years ago, when she had opened this very same door for him. "I daren't," she had said. But in the end she did dare. Just as she was daring now.

It was now or never; Anna opens the door, goes through, and closes it at her back, flinching as the hinges creak a little.

She waits for a moment. The only sound is a steady snoring coming from one of the men's rooms. She starts walking, squinting her eyes to read the signs on the doors, looking for his. Down the hall a door opens, and Anna swears her heart just stops beating. But then, he's peeking out and she beams, rather weakly, at the sight of his eyes.

Fast and silent steps take her to him, and finally she is inside his room, and he has closed the door.

John takes a deep breath. She is wearing her nightgown, her shoulders tightly wrapped in a light blue shawl. She looks small, pale in the dim light, but her eyes spark as she beams at him. He doesn't know what to say. For months he has dreamed about this, his coming home, her being with him, they becoming man and wife again, properly.

"I thought-"

"Would you-"

They chuckle.

"Go on, then," she says, and he notices her voice quivering.

The heat of their stolen moment in front of the fireplace has been replaced by something else. An overwhelming mixture of happiness, relief, incredulity, desire, and even excitement. He wants to be tender, though, considerate, slow. He needs her, oh so very much. But he wants it to last. He wants to savour her, each and every small part of her, and start to make up for all those lonely months apart.

He takes a small step towards her; for a wild second he almost looks around for the warden who will stop them from touching. Is it really possible that he is entitled to hold her hands now? To freely roam her body and hold her as close as possible?

She sees his hesitation, as a slightly trembling hand reaches up and slowly, very slowly, cups her cheek. Anna sighs, and leans into the warmth of his touch.

He caresses her cheek, traces her eyebrow with his thumb, and she clutches the hem of his nightshirt. Her knees feel weak and it takes almost all her self-control to stop her from throwing herself into his arms.

John's other hand moves to stroke her temple, the tips of his fingers tracing her features, sliding to finally settle his palm at her neck. He marvels at how perfectly it fits, she lets out a sigh.

"Oh, Anna," he whispers, and she closes her eyes for a moment, just to open them again. She loves the way he looks at her, and how his eyes are full of life now, not a shadow of the defeat she had seen so many times while visiting him in prison.

Just as slowly as his, her hands move to his chest. Her palms seem to recognise him; they find their place in the curve of his shoulders, while his hand keeps on sliding up and down her cheek.

"Is this real?" she whispers, her voice weak.

He nods, and draws closer. The tip of his nose traces the length of hers and it is so very intimate she feels goose bumps. Her heart is jumping madly, full of memories and fantasies. Any second now, just a tad lower.

His lips are no longer desperately seeking hers, as they have done earlier that day. They brush the corner of her mouth and Anna feels their texture and shivers. He presses a little more, and with his hands he guides her, ever so slowly and carefully. She moves her lips, mimicking his tempo, and tires to feel every millimetre of his, every wrinkle, every curb.

John sighs heavily, torn between his exquisite and excruciating game and his body's need to make her his again. Her lips keep on moving, and she takes his lower lip in them. He shudders and it seems to encourage her. Another small bite, a slow pull of his lip in hers, the tip of her tongue. His joins this slow dance, and both meet again, not so slow this time. Her breathing is ragged; she knows she won't be able to take this much longer, this slow, magnificent torture. He takes her tongue between his lips and she tastes tea and peppermint.

His hands are moving quickly now; one is on her waist, the other, palm open on her back, pulls her even closer. She feels his heat through the few layers of clothing, and their lips, abandoning all control, are urgent again, tasting, exploring, biting, caressing.

* * *

 **AN:** I'm overwhelmed by the kind responses to the first chapter of this story. Thank you very, very much!


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